


You

by dontlookup



Category: South Park
Genre: High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, one-sided cartman/kenny, physically and emotionally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontlookup/pseuds/dontlookup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenny thinks he has everything figured out, until somebody he thought he'd left in the past turns his life upside-down. Now, Stan is left with the task of trying to pull his friend back together, and along the way they just might realize that neither of them really had anything figured out in the first place, especially not their feelings for each other. But there's nothing stopping them from figuring it out now.... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic descriptions of sexual assault. Please read at your own discretion. Thank you.

 

* * *

**Chapter One: Pain**

* * *

 

The cold, Colorado winds whipped in through the open window, bringing winter in with them to Kenny's room. The teenager shivered under his worn-out parka from where he sat cross-legged on his bed, hunched over the bong settled in his lap. He closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath of smoke, held it in as long as he could, and then leaned his head back against the wall as he let it out.

Keeping his window open was really only a formality for the sake of not having a room full of smoke – the house always smelled like pot, or meth, or vomit, or who knows what else. There wasn't a moment he could remember that his parents weren't drunk or high or both. He liked to tell himself that he didn't care, that his life had just always been like this and he was numb to it all by now, but as he set the bong down on the rug beside his bed, lay back and stared at the ceiling, he got the uncomfortable feeling that it still bothered him.

_Fuck this_ , he thought to himself, reaching under his pillow for the dogeared, but still usable playboy magazines he kept hidden there. He'd probably gone through each one a thousand times, but he still always managed to find something in them that got him going. Granted, it wasn't particularly difficult to get him going. He was a teenage boy, with a libido even higher than most guys he knew. For years now he'd just been constantly horny. It gave him something to do, at least.

He stuck his hand down his pants, fishing his dick out as he started flipping through the magazine. He teased himself with just a finger and a thumb, enjoying the gentle stimulation as he looked for the picture that would get him hard this time. Eventually, however, he sighed and switched magazines, as the first didn't seem to be working. Maybe Busty Asian Beauties would work better.

He tried with that for a few more minutes before deciding that wasn't working and stowing the magazines back under his pillow. Pictures just weren't working for him lately. Unfortunately he didn't have a Wi-Fi connection, or a laptop on which to watch porn. He did, however, have the portable DVD player that Kyle had gotten him last Christmas, and a stack of pornos he'd 'borrowed' from his and Stan's dads.

He reached under his mattress for the DVD player, where he kept it hidden so his parents wouldn't find it if they were raiding his room for drug money, and pulled out one of the DVD, grinning when he saw it was one he hadn't seen yet. He popped it in and settled back as the stereotypical music started. There wasn't much of a plot, not that he'd expected one, but somehow the stereotypical skeleton plot of two blonde bimbos who ordered a pizza but couldn't afford it and paid for it with sex got him hard anyway, and soon he was stroking away to the exaggerated moaning of the girls double-teaming that one guy.

Actually, what was really getting him was those fabulous abs. He'd have to figure out who that pizza guy was later, because he had fantastic abs. Kenny was a sucker for a nice set of abs on a guy - he'd used to be proud of his, before starvation and malnourishment had fed on any muscle he'd had. He just really liked watching them move, it set a fire in his groin like he couldn't believe.

He was starting to feel warm despite the open window, so he pulled down the hood of his parka so that he could breathe in the cold air. He groaned in pleasure as he did so, turning toward the window. When he did, he froze.

"C-cartman!?" He squeaked.

His former friend was looking in his window, watching him, just staring at him. Kenny scrambled to cover himself with his blanket, and Cartman scowled. "Hey, what are you doing covering up?" He said, trying to pull himself up through the window. Kenny scowled, pulling up his pants and flipping Cartman off. "Fuck off, fatboy. I told you years ago to stop getting all fucking creepy with me and now you're looking through my fucking window!? Get out of here, shitbag!"

Cartman ignored him, instead dropping down from the open window with a thud and quite calmly leaning against the wall. Kenny could see a bulge in his pants. "Gross, dude." He growled. "Get the fuck out of here and I won't tell anyone you're being all faggy, alright? The fuck do you want, anyway?"

Cartman smirked, and Kenny could see he had a few new missing teeth. Clearly his hygiene hadn't improved. "What do I want? I fucking want you, dipshit." He answered, approaching the bed. Kenny felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck and he got to his knees, quickly trying to untangle himself from his blanket. He didn't trust being alone in a room with Cartman, not the way Cartman had been ever since they'd stopped playing with him when they were kids. "Dude," he said quickly, stalling, "I fucking told you, I'm not into you like that. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to tell you."

Cartman glared at him, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "You and I both know that isn't true, Kenny." He said. "You whore yourself out all the time to pretty much anyone, how come you don't want me so bad, huh!? Clearly you're just racist against fat people." He casually walked in front of the door, leaning against it and blocking that route of escape.

Kenny had to laugh at that. "Yeah, okay, I'm definitely the racist one in this room. Not the guy who tried to wage war against the Jews, but me. Fuck off, Cartman, I'm not going to fuck you. It's just getting pathetic." He turned to get out of bed and climb out the window, since just being in the same room with Cartman alone was making his skin crawl, when he suddenly heard a cry of fury from the other side of the room. Maybe calling him pathetic had gone a bit too far in pissing him off.

He tried to leap off of the bed but felt a sudden weight on top of him that sent him (and his DVD player) crashing to the floor. There was a sharp pain radiating through his arm and he couldn't stop himself from crying out. "FUCK! That fucking hurts!" He shouted. "I think you broke my fucking wrist! Get off of me!"

Above him, Cartman chuckled. "Now," he said. "You be a good little Kenny and don't fight back, and I won't have to break any more of your brittle little bones." Naturally, Kenny immediately started trying to throw him off, fighting through the pain, but it was like he was trying to throw a pile of bricks off of him. He'd beaten Cartman in fights before, of course, but that was when they were kids, when Kenny still had muscle, before his mother had lost her job washing dishes at the Olive Garden, before Cartman had learned to throw his weight around to his advantage. Now he was nearly three times Kenny's size, and the smaller boy could barely breathe beneath his weight, let alone hope to throw him off.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll suck you off if you get off of me. You're fucking crushing me, Cartman."

Cartman laughed and shoved him against the floor, holding his head down with one hand and starting to pull his pants down with the other. "I gave you plenty of chances to do this consensually and you still fought me. No, no, I'm going to show you what you've been missing, Kenny. And you're going to love it, you little whore."

"Stop calling me that!" Kenny shouted, twisting himself out of Cartman's grip and trying to get to his feet so he could run. Unfortunately his only reward came in the form of Cartman grabbing him again and shoving him against his nightstand. He cried out again, feeling another sharp pain, this time starting from his shoulder as he hit the nightstand. While he was reeling from the impact, Cartman rolled him onto his back and forced his pants and boxers down to his knees. He pressed his arm against the smaller boy's neck, and Kenny looked up at him like he was seeing Cartman for the first time.

"Now," he said, looking angry and out of breath. "Are you going to be a good Kenny and stop fighting, or are you going to make me break more of your bones?"

Kenny glared up at him. Then he spat in Cartman's face. "You're gonna have to kill me first," he growled. Furious, Cartman punched him in the jaw, then turned him roughly onto his stomach, shoving his face into the carpet and pinning his arms behind his back. Kenny almost viewed this as a positive change. At least he could breathe in the dust in the carpet instead of that awful smell of bad breath, body odor, and cheesy poofs that followed Cartman around. Then, however, he felt the hot breath in his ear. "You're gonna be sorry you did that. I was gonna be nice to you, but now I think I'm just gonna make you hurt, how about that? I think that would be fun."

Kenny felt something hard pressing against his ass and felt his body automatically tighten against the intrusion. He knew that the smartest idea was to force himself to relax to try to minimize the pain, but all of his instincts were telling him to fight, to keep Cartman out at any cost. It didn't matter, though. Cartman was leaking like a faucet, and eventually that was enough that he could force his way inside despite Kenny's unintentional whimper of protest.

"You like to pretend to be all stoic and silent, but I know what you are deep down, Kenny," he said gleefully, slowly guiding himself in at first, pushing until he was in all the way. "Don't be afraid to make all the noise you want for me."

Kenny grit his teeth against the pain, but when Cartman began to move he felt like he was being torn apart inside and the pain made him want to cry out. It took everything he had to press his face into the carpet and keep himself quiet, only groaning into the carpet when it really stung. His silence seemed to piss off Cartman even more, and he felt the thrusts get harder and rougher. Something wet was running down his thighs. Something else wet welled at the corners of Kenny's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't cry for Cartman, not ever.

He felt something make its way between his legs, and it took him a moment to realize it was Cartman's sweaty, pudgy hand he felt wrapped around his dick. Immediately he tried to pull away, but then he remembered the action was completely useless. "The fuck are you doing?" He asked, turning his head slightly to look at Cartman. His captor laughed. "I told you you're gonna like it, even if I have to make you like it." He stroked Kenny's dick in time with his thrusts, and the blond was getting hard from the attention despite himself. This made him a little nauseous, but he forced himself to ignore it. He wasn't going to let Cartman win. He could hold out longer, he was sure of it. He had way more experience than Cartman did, that much was true.

But even if he could hold himself back, nothing could stop the pain. Sure, he'd felt worse pain, he felt worse pain nearly every time he died, but this was a special kind of pain. Each thrust brought with it more ripping and tearing, until suddenly it didn't, and Kenny was sure this was only because he was bleeding enough for Cartman to move easily inside him. He felt another wave of nausea and forced it back. He didn't know what Cartman would do if he threw up, but he didn't imagine it would be good. So he forced himself to stay calm, breathing as deeply and evenly as he could in his current position. It wasn't easy with his face in the carpet, but he was managing. Cartman didn't like that. He didn't want Kenny to have any escape. He grabbed a fistful of blond hair and tugged, pulling the boy's head up out of the carpet and allowing him to breathe again. Kenny gasped for air despite himself, but Cartman was still on top of him, and his weight stopped him from taking a full breath.

"Come on, Kenny," the fat boy murmured in his ear. "You like it, admit it. You're trying not to, but we both know you're liking my cock in you, huh? Whores love cock, any cock they can get."

Kenny bristled at being called a whore again, trying to throw Cartman off. His actions only served to annoy his attacker further, and Cartman shoved him back into the floor. "Why don't you fucking learn, Kenny!?" He growled. "If you'd just stop fighting, you'd fucking enjoy it! I can be a very giving lover. And I'm not going to stop until you realize that, so you might as well just give up and fucking take it."

He knew that Cartman was telling the truth. He could feel it. Not that bullshit about enjoying it or being a 'giving lover', of course. He didn't know if Cartman even knew what the word lover meant. But he knew that Cartman meant what he said when he said he wasn't going to stop. He could be really stubborn. Granted, Kenny was stubborn as all hell, and proud, but right then he didn't feel any of those things. He just wanted Cartman to stop. So, he sank into the rug, closed his eyes, and stopped fighting.

Cartman could feel when he stopped resisting and started moving faster, eager, and soon Kenny felt a pressure welling in his abdomen that made him feel another wave of nausea. He fought it, holding his breath, just waiting for it to be over. And then, suddenly, with a release of pressure that should have felt good but just made him feel sick, it was over. Cartman cried out, and Kenny felt wetness fill him. Cartman collapsed on top of him in sudden relief, and Kenny suddenly couldn't breathe. He started trying to push the heavy boy off of him, and Cartman seemed to finally get the hint and got up. He smirked down at Kenny, standing at the ready like he was expecting the little blond to spring up and start trying to fight him.

Instead, Kenny just gasped for breath, and then once he could feel his good arm again he pulled the hood of his parka back up and hid his head in it, closing his eyes. He could hear Cartman laughing despite the muffling effect of the fabric. When he didn't react, he felt a sharp kick in the side, forcing him into the fetal position. The pain mixed with his nausea nearly made him vomit, but he refused to let Cartman have that. He took a deep breath, trying to get his stomach under control. Above him, Cartman pulled up his pants, smirked, and said "you're welcome, Kenny," before casually strolling out the room.

It was then, as soon as Cartman was gone, that Kenny's resolve crumbled, and he lay there sobbing into his parka. He couldn't stop, couldn't even get his breathing under control. Every sob brought with it a new wave of pain coming from where Cartman had kicked him, and his whole body throbbed with pain. He couldn't tell what might be broken and what wasn't broken - his whole body felt like one broken bone.

It was nearly an hour before he could even work up the strength to move. He tried, at first, as soon as he got himself to stop crying, but the pain made it impossible. He vomited up what little was in his stomach when he tried, and his head spun. Part of him just wanted to lay there and die - he certainly felt like he was dying, it hurt just as much. But there was an even stronger instinct in him to just get up and run as far as he could from Cartman's awful smell, and eventually, that part of him won. He managed to pull himself up with his good arm, standing on trembling legs and using his bed to help support himself. He felt like he was going to pass out as soon as he stood up, and had to brace himself against the bed for what felt like another hour, but was really only a few minutes.

Eventually he managed to pull up his pants with his good arm, the one Cartman had twisted rendered completely unusable. Then he started to stumble out of his room, taking it slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Karen was in her room, and he moved as quietly as he could by her door so she didn't see him like this. His parents, if they were home, probably wouldn't even notice, but he didn't want to worry his sister.

When he made it outside he stumbled suddenly, collapsing into the snow when he didn't have a wall to lean on anymore. He tried his best not to yell out - this was South Park, but somebody screaming at night might still draw attention, and he didn't want anyone knowing he was there. He dragged himself through the snow with his good arm, trying to ignore the numbness in his bare feet and the pain in his everything. There was only one place in South Park he ever felt safe, and right then it was the only place he could think of to go.

He knocked on the door with a trembling hand, wishing he was strong enough to knock harder. But he was lightheaded, and blackness was starting to creep into his vision. He wasn't going to last much longer.

His last conscious thought as he reached out to knock again and collapsed into the snow in the process was _'please, Stan. Please be there.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally published on ff.net in 2011, where I was nervous about what kind of response I would get, and fully expecting to just get a lot of flames. Instead I was overwhelmed by the support and positive comments that I continue to get even though I stopped updating this fic five years ago, and eventually they inspired me to come back, rewrite it completely, and maybe even finish it. Since I'm mostly here nowadays, I decided to mirror it here as well. Thank you for reading, and I'd love to know what you guys think.


	2. Blood

* * *

**Chapter Two: Blood**

* * *

"Kenny!"

Stan fell to his knees almost immediately upon opening the door, turning Kenny over so he could see if he was alright. He was pale, and when Stan bent down to listen to the boy's breathing it was shallow and weak. Immediately overcome with worry, Stan picked the tiny blond up, cradling him in his arms. Kenny felt like he was half frozen, and Stan knew he had to get his friend inside.

It wasn't the first time Kenny had shown up injured at Stan's doorstep. Way back in elementary school, back when they'd just been kids, Stuart McCormick had beaten his youngest son so badly he'd nearly died. Everyone knew he got rough when he was angry and drunk (which was almost always), but the incident had opened Stan and Kyle's eyes, and ever since then, Stan had made sure Kenny knew he always had a place at the Marsh house when he needed it. Kyle had offered as well, but it was always Stan that the boy went to, and Stan had to admit that this fact made his ego swell. He'd come to take his role as Kenny's protector and caretaker very seriously.

What really concerned Stan was that Kenny had passed out before he'd even gotten inside. That had never happened before, and he'd seen Kenny through some pretty difficult stuff. It was lucky for Kenny that he was tiny, somehow even lighter than he looked, and that Stan was strong, the star of South Park High's football team. Stan could easily carry him inside, although he couldn't help cradling the boy against his chest as he did so. He loved having Kenny close to him. As he shifted his friend in his arms so he could close the door, he pressed his face into his messy blond hair and took a deep breath. Kenny always smelled good, like sex and sweat and this one specific cologne, but when Stan took in his scent he pulled back almost immediately. There was something wrong, something foreign lingering on his friend's skin.

He carried Kenny upstairs slowly, trying to be careful with him. He couldn't tell how badly his friend was hurt just yet, and he was horribly afraid of hurting him even further, but he had to take the risk. When he got upstairs he carefully lay Kenny on his bed and sat beside him, unzipping his parka so he could try to wake the boy up. He'd never seen Kenny pass out from pain alone before, but he saw swelling in his wrist immediately, and couldn't stop himself from wondering how many other injuries he had.

"Kenny, hey, Kenny, it's Stan," he said, trying to wake the boy up by stroking his cheek. "I need you to wake up," When he didn't wake up, Stan tried tapping his cheek a little harder, but he was afraid to touch him any more than that without knowing what his injuries were.

When his friend didn't wake up, Stan jumped off of the bed and reached for the first aid kit he kept underneath it, trying not to panic. Kenny was going to be okay, he had to keep telling himself that. Kenny was always okay.

He fished around in the first aid kit for something he could use, until he found one of the little packets of smelling salts he'd stashed in there, just in case. Kyle had called him a dork when he saw them, but they could come in handy. He cracked one open and waved it under Kenny's nose, and suddenly found himself looking into a pair of very pretty, very confused-looking blue eyes. Stan could feel the relief washing over him when he saw Kenny awake. "Hey," he murmured, running a hand through Kenny's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Kenny groaned in response, the confusion in his eyes melting into contentment as his friend came into focus. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, however, and they quickly fluttered close again. Stan felt his heart race suddenly and he reached out to shake Kenny's shoulder. "No, no, c'mon, dude, you've gotta stay with me so I know you're alright," he said quickly. When he touched him, however, Kenny shrunk back, crying out in pain.

"Shit!" Stan pulled his hand back like he'd just stuck it into a fire. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know!" He looked at Kenny, panicking now, trying to figure out what to do.

Eventually, he settled on stroking the boy's hair again, something he knew wouldn't hurt his friend. "Kenny?" he asked hesitantly. "Please, just open your eyes, I need to know you're okay. I need you to talk to me so I can help you. I promise I won't hurt you again, Ken. You're safe, it's okay."

It felt like ages before Kenny opened his eyes again, but when he did, Stan could have melted with relief. "Hey," he said softly. He was trembling, but he looked back up into Stan's eyes. It reminded him a little bit of the time Kenny had overdosed on percocet and nearly died. He was always nearly dying.

"Hey, Ken, you drugged out?" He asked, keeping his hand on his friend's head. Kenny twitched like he was about to shake his head but had decided against it, and mumbled "no." Stan believed him - there was no reason not to, Kenny never lied about his drug use, not to Stan. It was too dangerous to hide it, and Stan had already proven himself trustworthy when Kenny had overdosed. It did, however, bring up a lot of questions about the boy's condition.

"Where's it hurt?" Stan asked, and Kenny winced as he murmured "everywhere," in response. Then he took a shallow breath, closed his eyes like he was trying to concentrate, and said "left wrist, left shoulder, right side." Stan nodded, carefully pulling the boy's parka off and folding it neatly aside. "Can you tell me what happened?" He asked, hoping he could just keep Kenny talking. It made him nervous when his friend got quiet.

Kenny didn't answer at first, as Stan tried to examine his wrist without hurting him even more. It was visibly disfigured, like the bone had been twisted out of place. Somebody had done this to him, this hadn't been an accident. "No," he mumbled eventually as Stan started to look at his shoulder. It didn't look broken, just bruised, but it was really almost impossible to tell without an xray. He could see by the bruising around his ribs, though, that at least one of those was broken. Kenny was delicate, even if he didn't like to admit it. His bones were so easy to break.

Stan had the sneaking suspicion that he should probably take Kenny to the hospital. He was great at treating his friend's normal injuries, the cuts and bruises and even the occasional broken bone. But he had so many injuries he could barely move, just like back when they were kids and he'd been beaten almost to death. It scared him, and he just wanted to know that Kenny would be okay. But he knew his friend wouldn't agree to the hospital - Kenny hated hospitals, he was always convinced they were going to kill him. He'd have to do his best to treat Kenny on his own, or at least clean him up and stabilize him.

"You can't tell me or you don't want to tell me, Ken?" He asked, climbing off the bed and digging through his first aid kit for the materials to make a split. The broken wrist seemed to be causing him a lot of pain, and he had a feeling that if he could stabilize that, moving Kenny would be a lot easier. Kenny seemed barely conscious of what he was doing. "Don't wanna," he mumbled. "Not sure it would come out if I tried."

Stan couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that, that there was something Kenny wanted to keep secret from him. Then, however, it just made him worry. What could be so bad that Kenny didn't want to tell him?

When he finished tying the makeshift splint, he squeezed Kenny's good hand to get his attention. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced up at Stan with a tired expression. "Sorry, Ken, you can sleep once I'm done with this, I promise. I just want to make sure I get everything wrapped up." He said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "I'm fine," Kenny grumbled. "Just dizzy." Stan frowned, not sure he believed him and not sure he liked the idea of 'just dizzy' even if he did. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" He asked, anxious. "I'm going to have to put some kind of bandage for your ribs."

Kenny nodded slightly, closing his eyes again as Stan started to carefully pull his shirt off. He was surprised when he was able to pull it past the boy's injured shoulder, but it did look like it was at least two sizes too big for him, so he had that going for him.

Kenny fell asleep while Stan was looking up how to wrap a bandage for his ribs on his phone. He could tell by the soft, shallow breathing that Kenny was actually asleep, not unconscious again. He'd take that much, he decided, and started to pull the boy's pants off so he could wash them. He'd gotten really good at getting bloodstains out of clothes since he'd started taking care of Kenny.

When he looked at his friend's pants, however, he froze. He was expecting a little blood, just because there was always a little blood on Kenny's clothes. But not this. There was blood all over the inside of his pants. He'd been bleeding.

Stan tried to keep himself from panicking as he woke Kenny back up. "Dude, dude, you're bleeding, why are you bleeding?" He asked, almost afraid to look for himself. Kenny thought for a moment, and then he just mumbled "yeah."

Stan wasn't satisfied with this answer. "Dude, you didn't tell me you were bleeding this much! What happened, doesn't it hurt?" He asked, frantic despite his efforts to stay calm. Kenny closed his eyes again and mumbled "doesn't really hurt much anymore. And it's not like you can bandage my asshole."

Stan could feel his hands shaking, and it took several deep breaths before he felt in control enough to ask his friend again "Kenny, dude, what the hell happened to you?"

Kenny scowled in response. "The fuck do you think? You're not this dense, Stan. Don't act it," he grumbled. Stan frowned. No, he wasn't dense, he knew what this pointed to, especially with Kenny trying so hard to dodge the subject. He just didn't want to believe it.

He put the pants aside with the parka, and looked nervously at Kenny. "Ken... I... do you want to get cleaned up? Before I finish bandaging you? I could bring you over to the tub." Kenny opened one eye at that, and then he nodded. "Please," he mumbled. "All I can smell is... gross."

He said 'gross' like he'd been about to use another word but changed his mind, but Stan decided not to push him. He'd been through enough that night, justice would have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, he just nodded, and then carefully picked Kenny up off of the bed. The boy nestled his head against Stan's chest, and Stan was sure it was because he was too out of it to know what he was doing, but the gesture made his heartbeat quicken anyway.

He turned on the shower, and while he was waiting for the water to warm up tried to carefully remove Kenny's bloodstained boxers. Kenny didn't put up any resistance, but when Stan got him naked he curled up against him, trembling. Stan stroked his hair, trying to comfort him. "It's okay," he said softly. "Nobody is going to hurt you here."

He lay Kenny down in the tub and pulled down the showerhead so he could start washing him off, trying to avoid touching him more than he had to. It wasn't like he hadn't seen his friend naked before (just about anyone who'd partied with Kenny before had), he just looked so vulnerable like this, it made Stan nervous to even touch him.

When he'd finished cleaning Kenny up, he wrapped the tiny boy in a fluffy, oversized towel, hoping the fabric would be comforting to his friend. Stan had noticed that whenever he got upset, Kenny hid inside his parka. He was hoping the big towel would have the same effect as he carried him back to his room and lay him back on his bed. He'd fallen asleep again, and Stan was torn between wanting to let him rest and wanting to keep him awake so he knew he was okay.

The athlete decided at least to let Kenny sleep while he finished bandaging his chest and getting him dressed. It would be easier if he could sleep through as much of the pain as possible. Stan was going to have to try to get ahold of some pain medication for him, or the next couple of weeks were going to be torture. If his bones even started healing. He'd have to try to talk Kenny into letting him take him to the hospital once he was more conscious. He didn't want to do it before getting Kenny to agree, he was afraid his friend might not trust him afterward. Kenny had the strongest fear of hospitals he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure the boy would rather die than go.

Laying there in a clean pair of pajama pants, his wounds carefully bandaged, Kenny looked too peaceful to wake. Stan just wanted to let him rest. He sat on his bed beside Kenny, stroking his hair and just watching him breathe. He was still afraid that any second that gentle motion of his friend's chest would just suddenly stop.

Stan shook his head. No, that was crazy paranoid talk. Kenny was beat up, that was for sure, but he wasn't dying. He stood up, grabbing Kenny's clothes. He had to distract himself, and doing laundry would at least get him out of the room and thinking about something else.

He tossed the parka into the washing machine, but as he was checking the pockets of Kenny's jeans he noticed something odd. There was orange dust all over his pants. Like cheesy poof dust. But that didn't make sense, because Kenny never bought snack foods like that. He couldn't afford them, and even if he could, he hated cheesy poofs.

But they knew at least one person who didn't, who even now in high school always had orange fingers. Stan suddenly remembered that awful foreign smell that had been on Kenny. His friend had been right, it had smelled gross. Gross like Cartman's terrible hygiene. He didn't doubt Cartman was capable of something like this. It had to be him. Of course, only Cartman could be this cruel to somebody everybody liked.

Stan felt like he was going to be sick - he'd always had a weak stomach. He took several deep breaths, and then took out his phone. He had a call to make.


	3. Anger

* * *

**Chapter Three: Anger**

* * *

"Ugh," Kyle groaned, rolling over in bed and sleepily reaching for the vibrating phone on his nightstand. "Who the fuck is calling me in the middle of the night?" He grumbled, though he had a sneaking suspicion. Yawning, he squinted at the screen of his phone, and then rolled his eyes and answered it.

"Stan, do you have any idea what time it is?" He greeted his best friend, sounding more exhausted than annoyed. Stan wouldn't call in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency, but Kyle couldn't help being just a little annoyed at being woken up.

"Kyle! Kenny's at my house again and he looks like hell, dude." Came Stan's frantic response. At the word 'Kenny', Kyle had already started getting out of bed. Stan was almost infuriatingly proud when it came to that boy. Kyle knew that their friend stayed with Stan sometimes, even more often than just the times he knew about, and Stan had begun to act like Kenny was his responsibility. He'd taught himself first aid, how to recognize and deal with a drug overdose, all sorts of things that most people never bothered to learn. He never asked for help with Kenny, determined to take care of him by himself. The only two times he'd ever asked for Kyle's help, they'd only barely saved Kenny's life.

"I'm on my way," he answered. "Is there anything I should bring?"

* * *

Stan hung up the call and sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the door frame of the laundry room. It wouldn't take long for Kyle to show up. He just had to figure out how much to tell him. Kenny, for all his nonchalance and exhibitionist tendencies, was incredibly private, and Stan knew he wouldn't want Kyle knowing what happened. He was amazed that Kenny had even shared it with him, although he hadn't been able to say it outright. But Kyle was going to ask questions, and Stan needed his advice.

He wandered back upstairs while he was waiting for Kyle, and paused on the stairs when he heard a small whimpering sound coming from his room. Kenny was trembling, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the pained expression on his face as he tried to pull the blanket over his head despite the bandages that were restricting his movement. Stan knelt by the side of the bed, running a hand through his friend's sweat-soaked blond hair. "Shh, Kenny, you're alright now," he murmured. "Wake up, Ken."

Kenny looked wild-eyed at Stan when he first woke up. "You're safe, if's okay." The athlete said, trying to keep his voice calm. Kenny's frantic breathing slowed, and eventually he stopped shaking. Stan carefully pulled the blanket up over the top of his head, which seemed to have an instantly calming effect on his friend. Kenny fell back asleep almost immediately, but Stan stayed with him, watching him, making sure the nightmare didn't start up again.

Eventually, Stan heard the front door open and close, signaling Kyle's arrival. He glanced back at Kenny one more time before standing up and heading downstairs as quietly as he could. "Stan?" Kyle called out. "Where are you guys?"

"Shh!" Stan hissed as he came down the stairs. Kyle hurried over to him. "How is he?" He asked, concern in his eyes. Stan looked agitated, and if Stan was this worked up, he could only imagine how Kenny was doing. Stan looked away from him uncomfortably. "He's... sleeping," he said. "I cleaned him up and bandaged him up but I don't know what else I can do for him."

Kyle frowned. "What happened to him?" He asked. Stan didn't answer at first, choosing instead to gesture for Kyle to follow him upstairs. He didn't like the idea of leaving Kenny alone too long. Especially not if he was having nightmares. He'd promised Kenny that he was going to protect him, and he was going to keep that promise. He led Kyle upstairs, pausing in his doorway to check on Kenny. The boy's sleep had grown fitful again - he'd managed to kick off most of the blanket in his struggling, tossing and turning and shaking violently. Stan immediately went to his side to try to calm him down, while Kyle stood in the doorway, watching anxiously. Despite Stan's best efforts, Kenny was a mess. Yet, when he focused on Stan he grew calm again, at least closer to it.

Once Stan had gotten the boy back into somewhat of a peaceful sleep he glanced back at Kyle, and slowly backed out of the room so they could talk. He raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge what was on Kyle's mind that was causing that preoccupied expression. "I think you've got a lot of explaining to do, dude," said the redhead softly.

They sat on Stan's parents' bed to talk, keeping the door open so they could hear if anything happened with Kenny. Stan sighed as he sat down, leaning against the headboard and closing his eyes. It felt so good to rest. Kyle couldn't help but smile at him. "You look beat, dude," he said, pulling Stan forward to stop him from just falling asleep right there. Stan shook his head. "I am," he said. "It's just been a long night."

"What the hell happened?" Kyle asked, crossing his legs and looking at Stan. The athlete frowned, scratching his head as he tried to work out what exactly to tell his friend. "I was watching the game when I heard a sound outside," he said eventually. "I went to check and he was already passed out, he's never done that before, he always at least makes it inside. So I brought him in and cleaned him up and took care of his injuries and he's been like that ever since and I don't know what to do except keep calming him down but on this end I'm freaking out, honestly."

Kyle sighed. "Can you please just tell me what happened instead of trying to act all mysterious and shit? The only person good at being mysterious around here is Kenny. You suck at it."

Stan couldn't decide whether to laugh or to be a little offended. Eventually he sighed. "I can't, dude. I feel like I'm betraying him." Kyle looked at him quizzically. "Why? We're his best friends, I'm just here to help. If you're not going to fucking tell me anything, why even wake me up at two in the fucking morning, Stan!?"

Stan glared at his friend when he raised his voice, and Kyle glared back at him. It was Stan who broke first, sighing and looking down. "Because I can't do this alone. If he didn't keep panicking like that I think I might have already done something I'd regret."

Kyle placed a hand on his best friend's knee as Stan glanced out the door, watching as Kenny's sleep became fitful again. "Then talk to me," Kyle said. "Let me help. I'm worried about him too."

Stan sighed. "It was Cartman." He said, gritting his teeth. "He isn't going to admit it but I know it was Cartman. He's been all weird ever since Kenny came out as bi freshman year. I know there must have been more than Kenny told us. He's fucking creepy." Kyle rolled his eyes. "Stan, I don't think you need to tell me what a fucknugget that guy is. What the fuck did he do this time? I mean, I'm not actually surprised he did something, I just..." he frowned. "He looks really scared."

Stan glared down into his lap. "He... Cartman..." he trailed off, realizing that he'd been clenching his fists. "His... _ass_ was bleeding, goddammit."

Kyle looked at him, piecing things together. "You can't be serious."

Stan glared at him. "Why would I joke about this shit, Kyle? Cartman fucking... Kenny, he basically admitted it, he didn't even want to say it." He took a deep breath, trying to keep down the rage that was starting to build up inside of him.

Kyle seemed to be trying (and failing) not to look shocked. "How did you know it was lardass?" He asked. Stan frowned. "He smelled like Cartman." He said, his tone almost hurt. "And his pants were covered with cheesy poof dust. You know Cartman pretty much singlehandedly keeps them in business."

Kyle sighed. "That doesn't mean it was him, Stan. Look, I hate Cartman too. He and his fucking jewkillers can all go die in a ditch for all I care. But I don't think even he would sink this low. Besides, I don't think he has a dick big enough to fuck anybody."

Stan shoved him. "Shut the fuck up, dude. I'm being serious. I really think it was him. It makes sense. Who the fuck else could have done something like this? Cartman was stalking him for months after he came out. Maybe he never stopped."

Kyle sighed. "Okay. Let's assume you're right. What do we even do about it?" Stan shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really want to do anything until he wakes up and I can see how he's really doing."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "What do you need me for, then?" Stan took another deep breath. "To stop me from going out and bashing Cartman's fat head in."

Kyle snorted. "You feeling okay, Stan? Because you just asked to me of all people to stop you from hurting Cartman."

Stan actually chuckled a little. "Fine, then. Watch Kenny while I go bash Cartman's fat head in." Kyle smirked, laying back on the bed. "Yeah, alright, I'll get right to that, Stan."

Stan swatted at his friend, smiling. "My parents are still in Florida visiting Shelly if you want to stay. There's extra blankets in the closet, I wouldn't suggest going under these." Kyle nodded, taking off his ushanka. "Where are you sleeping?" He asked.

"My room," Stan answered, standing up and shaking his head. "I don't want him to be alone."


	4. Comfort

The first thing Kenny noticed when he woke up was the pain. His whole body hurt like he'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Or a tank. Or an eighteen-wheeler carrying a tank.

The second thing he noticed was the warmth beside him. He cautiously opened his eyes, almost afraid of what he would see lying beside him. All night he'd been having awful nightmares, flashes of Cartman's face, of his voice, taunting him. He just wanted it to stop.

But when he finally worked up the nerve to look at whoever was laying beside him, he felt a flood of relief sink into his aching bones. He'd recognize that mess of black hair anywhere, and there was nobody else he'd have rather woken up beside right then. Stan just had this comforting presence, like as long as he was around, everything was going to be okay. (Kenny was pretty sure that was just about the gayest thought he'd ever had, right up next to his fantasies about being reamed in the ass by some guy with great abs, but he didn't particularly care right then.) It was a plus that he was really, really nice to look at. 

He tried to cuddle up to the athlete sleeping beside him because hey, when you wake up in the bed of the school's hot quarterback, you don't ask questions, you just go with it. But he could barely move, and even trying brought waves of pain that reminded him that no, he hadn't had a fun little one night stand with Stan out of his fantasies.

He could barely remember the events of the night before, but the little flashes of memory he did get told him that was probably a good thing.

It was actually almost funny, really. In that sort of bitter comedy sense he'd always found sort of amusing. He'd grown to discount Cartman. He just hadn't seemed like a threat, really more of a nuisance than anything else.

That certainly wasn't true anymore. Kenny felt his stomach sink - he just felt so stupid. He groaned, resting his head against the warmth of Stan's shoulder. Even that slight contact was the most comforting feeling in the world right then. 

He stayed like that until Stan started to stir, growing so relaxed he felt like he could have fallen asleep if not for the pain. He wasn't sure how he'd slept so much the night before. Stan rolled over to look at him when he woke up and Kenny could feel the relief emanating off of him. "Hey," he said, smiling softly. "How are you feeling?"

Kenny smirked. "Like I could get up and dance right now," he responded. Stan rolled his eyes, sitting up and stretching. "No, Ken, really. How are you doing? Other than the pain, I mean. You've got some new bruises that weren't there last night. You're sure I wrapped everything?"

Kenny nodded, bringing his good hand to his jaw, where the skin felt tender. Where the hell had Cartman learned to punch? "Yeah dude, you've got me wrapped like an Egyptian mummy." He said lightly, trying and failing to sit up. "Help me up, would you? I gotta take a piss."

Of all of the things Kenny said, somehow this was the one that got Stan to laugh. Maybe it was just because it was so mundane that it surprised him. Either way, Kenny took the chuckle as a victory. Stan gently pulled him into a sitting position, acting almost like he was moving some priceless china doll. "You're not going to break me, Stan. Promise." Kenny teased, although really, he found it sort of cute that the athlete was so worried.

Kenny took a moment to get used to sitting up before he got Stan to help him stand up. Almost immediately, standing felt like a bad decision, but he was determined to walk on his own. He willed his legs to stop shaking, grateful that Stan wasn't letting go right away. It was like standing multiplied the pain in his chest, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He nearly collapsed into Stan, and part of him wanted to give in and let his friend hold him up. But he couldn't let Cartman win like that. He had to be stronger.

"I'm... okay... Stan," he said through gritted teeth, taking a tentative step forward. Regardless, Stan didn't let go, keeping one arm firmly around his waist and holding his hand with the other. Kenny was horribly appreciative of that fact, since he was marginally sure that Stan was the only thing keeping him standing. He paused there for a few moments, trying to take a breath that didn't result in shooting pains through his chest. Eventually he gritted his teeth again, took a sharp breath through his nostrils, and took another step. Then he took another. Through sheer willpower he managed to shrug off Stan's extremely helpful support and push his way to the bathroom, where he promptly sat himself on the toilet, struggled with his pajama pants long enough he felt like he was going to pee himself, and then finally shoved his dick between his legs and let out a sigh of relief as he emptied his bladder into the toilet.

He closed his eyes when he was finished, like walking just that short distance had expended all of his day's energy, and he felt like he could have fallen asleep if not for the fact that he heard voices down the hall. He struggled to get up from where he was sitting so he could listen more closely. He eventually did, however, manage to pull himself up and pull his pants back up, and then he cracked open the bathroom door, leaned against it, and listened.

"...he's just acting so normal," he heard Stan say.

"Well what did you expect?" Came the response. Was that Kyle? "It's Kenny, dude. If you're really worried about him, go talk to him. You know him, he puts on a brave face but it's not like he won't talk to you, Stan. You're his best friend."

Kyle wasn't exactly wrong, though Kenny didn't really like the whole 'puts on a brave face' bit. He always liked to think his easygoing mask was difficult for people to see through. But Stan was definitely his best friend. He wasn't sure where he'd be if not for Stan goddamned Marsh and his open door policy.

He sighed, finishing what he needed to do at what he felt like was a horribly slow pace. He looked in the mirror as he washed his hands, noticing the bruise along his jaw and remembering where Cartman had punched him. Even ignoring that he looked like a wreck - it really wasn't a surprise that Stan was so concerned.

After trying to wash the exhaustion out of his eyes, he carefully made his way back down the hall, bracing himself against the wall. He was trying to be quiet but must have made a noise, as Stan suddenly left his parents' room and hurried over to help him, worry clear in his face. Kenny started to shrug off his arm, but the moment Stan was helping him up he immediately felt some of his pain lessen, and it felt too good to give up. He sank against Stan, who took him into his arms and held him upright. God, that felt good.

Stan stood with him for a moment, supporting most of Kenny's weight, and then leaned down to scoop the boy up bridal style. Kenny almost protested, but it felt so much better to not be standing anymore that he couldn't bear to do anything that would make it stop, so instead he just closed his eyes and lay his head against Stan's chest. "You okay, Ken?" The athlete asked, concern obvious in his voice. Kenny nestled into his chest, breathing in the earthy scent of Stan. "Been better," he mumbled. "Been worse, too. Was that Kyle?"

Stan paused, and then nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He stayed the night in my parents' room. Just as backup." He brought Kenny down the hall much more easily, and set him down carefully on his bed. Kenny started to curl up out of habit, but the sudden shooting waves of pain stopped him. He looked up at Stan, breathing shallowly, and Stan wordlessly sat down beside him and ran a hand through his messy blond hair.

"Hey, you feeling any better, Kenny?" Came Kyle's voice from the doorway. Kenny turned to look at him, and flashed his friend a cheesy smile. "I feel fine, Kyle. I was just telling Stanny boy over here I think I'm gonna do a naked jig out of here this afternoon."

Stan rolled his eyes, but he chuckled at the same time. Kenny loved being able to make him laugh. "You can if you want to, dude, but it's fucking cold out. I think your balls would freeze off."

Kenny shrugged his good shoulder, wincing as even that caused pain, and nestled into Stan's hand a bit. He wasn't going to say no to the physical contact, that was for sure. Stan noticed the movement, and moved a bit closer to him, reminding Kenny exactly why he considered him his best friend. Just those little things.

"Really though, Ken, how are you holding up?" Kyle asked, more seriously, and Kenny rolled his eyes from the safety of Stan's hand. "I'm fine, really." He insisted. "I mean the broken bones aren't fun and I'm hungry as all fuck, but I'm fine."

Kyle perked up at that. "Want me to go get pizza?" He asked, sounding almost too eager. "I mean, it's like noon, but it's never too early for pizza." Stan shrugged, looking down at Kenny, who lay beside him seemingly staring off into space for a good minute before nodding. There was a fraying string hanging off of Stan's jacket, and right then he wanted nothing more than to snap it off. He wasn't even sure why it was suddenly demanding so much of his attention.

"You sure you're alright, Ken?" Stan asked, sounding worried, and Kenny nodded before shaking his head to clear it. "Yeah," he said. "Just... thinking. Er, pizza. Pizza sounds good. Just thinking about pizza. You guys like spinach on pizza? Tweek likes it for some reason, spinach and peppers. Craig gave me a slice once, it's actually really good."

Kyle gave Stan a look that Kenny couldn't read, and he felt something in the pit of his stomach at the fact that the two of them were sharing secret glances over him. "I'm just trying to give you an option other than 'meat lovers, hold the pork', okay?" He added, a little more testily than he'd intended. Kyle started to back out of the room a bit. "Okay dude, thanks. Nobody here is getting on you for anything, just... do whatever you need to do. You never mentioned you didn't like meat lovers before."

Kyle hurried downstairs to go order the pizza, and Stan looked down at him. "What's with the spinach pizza thing?" He asked. Kenny let out a frustrated sigh, turning his head to look up at Stan. "See, this is why I never said anything before. You guys just turn it into a big fucking thing. I was just making a suggestion, that's all."

Stan frowned down at him. "Ken," he said, stroking Kenny's hair. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

Kenny sighed. "It's not a big deal, I don't actually give a shit. I was just suggesting 'cause..." he took a deep breath. "The meat lovers one just reminds me of guts, okay? I didn't really wanna do that today." Stan cocked an eyebrow. "Guts?"

"Yes!" Kenny practically growled, and the violence with which he answered started him coughing. His coughs sounded more like something being strangled considering how hard he was trying to hold them in. Each one felt like a knife through his ribs. "m...makes me think of laying in an alley and all you can see is your guts scattered around you while wild dogs tear you to shreds. It's a... recurring nightmare I've had." He kept his gaze firmly averted from Stan's. "Don't tell Kyle, okay? He'd probably laugh, 'cause it's stupid."

"Jesus Christ, dude" came Stan's response. "That's not stupid, Kyle wouldn't laugh." Kenny shrugged his good shoulder, not believing him, and then immediately decided he would never, ever shrug again as suddenly he couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes, trying to get himself under control, and he could feel Stan watching him, worrying about him.

"Kyle brought some pain meds," Stan said when Kenny finally met his eye. "I told him to. They're from when his dad had that back surgery a few months ago, nobody at his house will miss them."

Kenny looked up at him. "And?" He asked. Stan rolled his eyes, smirking. "I think you should take them, dummy. Don't just lay there in pain." He brushed a chunk of sweaty blond hair out of Kenny's face, and Kenny cracked a smile. "I'm fine, Stanny boy. It doesn't even hurt that much." Stan gave him a derisive look, and Kenny looked away from him. "What's it to you, anyway?" He mumbled. "I thought you were against me getting high."

Stan sighed. "I'm not telling you to take ten of them, Ken, Jesus. I just don't like seeing you in pain like this." Kenny smirked, reaching his good arm out for the pill bottle. "Glad to know you've finally accepted me as your lord and savior, Ken-Jesus," he said, prompting Stan to roll his eyes as he popped the top on the bottle and shook out one pill. 

Kenny stared at him, keeping his hand held out, until he finally sighed and shook out another. He wouldn't admit it, but giving Kenny the whole bottle still made him nervous. Hell, even giving him more than one pill made him nervous. Kenny could tell. It didn't make much of a difference to him as long as he got what he needed. Really, it just meant less steps involved. He fumbled around on Stan's nightstand for the bottle of water he knew was there - Stan always got thirsty at night - and true to form, found it handed to him by the Marsh boy himself. Always trying to be helpful, that Stanley. It was cute, really. 

God, he had the gayest fucking thoughts sometimes.

As he tucked the bottle against himself so he could get it open with one hand, Stan sat with his hands in his lap, looking pensive. He waited until Kenny had swallowed the painkillers before asking, tentatively, "Kenny... do you want to go to the hospital?"

Kenny snorted in response, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes while he waited for the painkillers to work their magic. "Let me think about that for a second. No." Stan couldn't help the smirk that made its way to his face. "I mean, I probably could have guessed that." He said. "I really think it might be a good idea for you to get looked at by an actual doctor, though."

Kenny shook his head slowly. "I'd rather you do it. At least you give a shit. They always kill me." Stan snorted. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration, Ken."

Kenny opened one eye to look back at him. "Okay, they almost always kill me." 

Stan gave him a tired smile like he'd decided he wasn't going to win this battle, and nodded. "Can I change your bandages at least, then?" He asked. Kenny nodded, trying to lift himself into a sitting position with one arm. He could feel Stan's eyes on him like his friend was trying not to look at him with pity - something he'd yelled at him for doing in the past. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "I can get myself up, dammit," he said, maybe a little more harshly than he'd intended.

Stan gave him a hurt look, and he tried to soften his tone. "Really, I'm okay, Stanny boy. Go get the stuff you need to do it. You know Kyle's gonna be a pain in the ass if the pizza gets here and we're not down there to eat it."

Stan chuckled and went to grab his first aid kit, lingering for just a moment. Kenny found it kind of sweet that he was so concerned. He didn't have a ton of people like that in his life.

By the time Stan had returned, Kenny had managed to get himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall and taking long, shallow breaths to try to manage the sudden pain radiating through his body. He closed his eyes and tried to smile as Stan sat down beside him and placed a hand on his knee. "What time is it?" He asked.

"I dunno, sometime after noon," Stan answered, rifling through his bag. "You tired?"

Kenny nodded. "Hoping it means the pills are starting to work," he mumbled. He could almost feel the force of Stan frowning in response without even having to open his eyes. "Can you stay with me for a bit, though, Ken?" He asked, running a hand through Kenny's messy blond hair. Kenny opened his eyes, glancing up at him. "Just so I can do this, then you can go back to sleep, alright?" He added. Kenny nodded, shifting a bit. "Just tell me what you need me to do," he said.

They changed his bandages with relatively little difficulty, all things considered. He didn't seem to be bleeding much anymore, which probably helped, but as soon as Stan unwrapped his wrist to clean it off, Kenny felt the pain radiate all the way up through his shoulder. He got a sudden flash of memory - Cartman twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him against the floor. He grimaced, and Stan gave him one of those looks that made him feel like a difficult question was coming.

"So..." he mumbled, fastening the wrapping around Kenny's wrist. "Do you... remember what happened?"

Kenny was expecting the question, to some extent. From what he could piece together, he didn't think he'd said very much the night before. Stan had a tendency to worry.

"Sort of," he answered. "Enough." 

"What's enough?"

Kenny at least appreciated that Stan kept doing things while he was talking. It made it feel less like an interview. He stopped himself from shrugging and frowned, and eventually said "Enough."

"Jesus Christ, Ken," Stan said, sighing. "You are so difficult to get any information out of. I can't help you if you're fighting me."

Kenny closed his eyes, grimacing."Are you done with those, yet?" He mumbled. "I'm tired." Stan sighed heavily, but eventually just grunted "yeah, you can lay down."

Kenny sank into the bed with a sigh, and Stan packed his first aid kit away and lay down beside him. Almost immediately, Kenny inched closer to him on the bed, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. Stan shifted his position at the contact, gently pulling Kenny closer to him and resting his hand in his hair. It wasn't like they hadn't cuddled like this before. (Kenny had always been more of a physical person, even before he'd started having sex. Cuddling was comforting.)

It had an immediate effect on him. Stan had a tendency to do that. The athlete pulled one of the blankets up over them, gently stroking his hair. They lay like that for long enough that Kenny was surprised Kyle didn't come upstairs to complain.

"Alright," he said finally, closing his eyes and nestling into Stan. "What do you want to know?"

He could feel Stan's eyes on him. "Who was it?"

Of course that was the question. Kenny felt the energy sink out of him. Stan could feel it too, because he held him tighter for just a moment.

"It was Cartman," he mumbled after what felt like forever, and he felt Stan stiffen at the name. "I'm okay, Stan." He insisted. "I've been worse. You've seen me worse. I'll be fine before you know it. Now I know I should just really, really avoid him."

Stan frowned. "Weren't you already trying to do that?" 

"I know." Kenny sighed. "I know. It's not really a solution. I just... what else can I do?"

"Get him arrested," Stan said. "At least get a restraining order. Something." Kenny snorted. "Yeah, a piece of paper is going to keep him away. Or the South Park police. Trying to do any of that shit is just going to piss him off. If they even believed me in the first place."

He could feel the anger radiating off of Stan, and it made him want to shrink away. But at the same time, Stan was stroking his hair and holding him close, gestures which were so comforting right then he just wanted to stay there forever. He lay there with a pit of worry growing in his stomach, closing his eyes.

"I believe you," Stan said eventually. "I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks. I'll always believe you. And he's not going to hurt you again."

They lay there like that in comfortable silence until the doorbell shocked Kenny out of his almost-sleep. He'd already forgotten about the pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while. The song 'fighting for you' that keeps playing as a YouTube commercial keeps inspiring me to write more of this pair, so I had to go back to this. Writing Kenny is fun.


End file.
